


The one thousand dollar plan

by ladyprydian



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffee Shops, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots in Love, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyprydian/pseuds/ladyprydian
Summary: “I will pay you one thousand dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend,” says the vision in dark blue denim and a faded band t-shirt in front of Eames.Note: Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), Dom Cobb/Mal Cobb
Comments: 22
Kudos: 171





	The one thousand dollar plan

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Lolahardy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolahardy/pseuds/lolahardy) for the cheer leading and to [Prettyvk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyvk/pseuds/prettyvk) and [Consultingreaders](https://consultingreaders.tumblr.com/) for the beta. Without the three of you this wouldn't have happened and would be full of grammatical errors.

“I will pay you one thousand dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend,” says the vision in dark blue denim and a faded band t-shirt in front of Eames. 

The man before him is slight with tousled dark brown hair. His fitted jeans and t-shirt look soft, well worn and comfortable; the thick black-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose have Eames gaping. He is a vision. A vision in a coffee shop in Midtown, an angel that tumbled from a Carravaggio painting and into Eames’ lap. Almost literally as the man drops a messenger bag to the floor and sits on the chair beside Eames. It isn’t entirely unwelcome, this gorgeous disruption to his day. 

“Pardon,” Eames says, setting down and tucking a bookmark into the book he was reading, _The Western Wind_ by Samatha Harvey. It is quite gripping, and Eames is about 50 pages from the end. But when a beautiful man who looks one hundred percent serious but still has some roundish boyishness to his face seats himself beside you, with no ‘hi there and hello,’ then starts offering you money for what sounds like the plot of a romcom? Well, Eames loves romcoms and has always wanted to be a part of one. 

“Oh god you’re British, okay, that’s okay. No, yeah I can work with that,” babbles the alluring man in front of Eames. “So yeah, one thousand dollars in cash for like an hour of your time, two tops, for pretending to be my boyfriend.” 

Eames blinks. Boyfriend for an hour. It’s an interesting business proposal. He can role-play for an hour. It’s not like he has anything better to do today. The only reason he was reading in the café was that he wanted to continue to ignore the mess in his apartment. If he wasn’t there to see it, he didn’t have to vacuum. 

“Darling, this is all rather fast. I don’t even know your name,” says Eames, looking back at the man beside him. His eyes dart to a curl of dark brown hair that flops across the other man’s forehead. Eames feels the urge to brush it away, knowing that it would drop back into place as soon as his fingertips let go. 

“Oh, it’s Arthur,” Arthur says with a wave of his hand like it isn’t important. “Arthur Levine.”

Eames rolls the name around in his head. _Hmmm Arthur, Arrthuurrrr._

“Deal? No deal?” Arthur asks. “It’s just I saw your pride button on your bag and oh my god, you’re an ally, aren’t you? Like you’re not gay or bi? ‘Cuz I can work with either. Oh lord. Please don’t tell me you're straight and you have a wife.” A look of combined horror and embarrassment makes its way across Arthur’s face.

“No, no. Not straight, no wife. If I were to classify myself I’d say bi and completely unattached,” Eames reassures. 

“Okay okay, good. I’m gay, but I have nothing against bi folks,” Arthur says, biting his lip slightly. There is a look of worry on Arthur’s face. It’s making his forehead wrinkle. Eames feels the urge to kiss the wrinkle away. 

“I don’t have the cash on me right now, but I can get it after,” Arthur says. “See, I’m meeting some friends here for coffee, and well, they’ve been bothering me for years now to get a new boyfriend and setting me up on all these awful blind dates. So six months ago I made a guy up and, well I kept it vague and non-committal, but now they want to meet said guy, and I’ve been able to make excuses before, but now I’m stuck. And it’s either you or I have to leave everything behind and fake my own death and start over somewhere else. That or launch myself in a rocket into the sun.” Arthur says most of that speech in one breath, becoming slightly hysterical towards the end. 

“I think you’re being a tad dramatic, and it’s Eames, by the way,” Eames says, holding out his hand. “William Eames.”

“Eames, nice to meet you,” Arthur says, shaking Eames’ hand. Somehow perfectly catching on that Eames prefers to go by his surname. He also seems reluctant to let go, so Eames twines their fingers together. They fit together perfectly. Eames’ broader ones in Arthur’s thinner, more nimble ones. 

“So yes? No?” Arthur asks. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but you’re like the hottest guy here and I need to know like right now if I need to move on to someone else,” Arthur says. A blush creeps across his features. Eames can practically see his mind turning as Arthur realizes that he just called Eames hot. It’s endearing. 

“You’re lovely yourself, Arthur, quite lovely,” Eames says with a grin. “Thank you for telling me I’m hot. And yes. I’ll do it. But not for the price you said, a coffee is fine.”

“Really?” Arthur says. His relief is palpable, like a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you and you’re sure?” Arthur leans forward a bit. “You have time? ‘Cuz I can totally pay you and get you that coffee.”

“Yes, I’m free today. I was spending some time here reading,” Eames says, nudging his book to the side with his left hand. Arthur has yet to release the right one. “Just the coffee is fine, but later, I’m still finishing up the one I have. So how did we meet?

“Oh! Right yes! So I told my friends a vague story about meeting a guy at the Guggenheim,” Arthur says.

“Oooh! Did I strike up a conversation in front of a piece of modern art?” Eames asks, leaning back a bit. “Perhaps the Bacon they have. Three Studies for a Crucifixion, so much violence, suffering and anger in that piece? It’s an odd piece to fall in love in front of,” he says absently before raising an eyebrow and winking at Arthur. In the series Bacon used a triptych to play with parallels between the crucifixion of Christ and a slaughterhouse. Macabre and disturbing, but evocative nonetheless. 

“I .. you like Francis Bacon?” Arthur stutters, blushing. “I love Francis Bacon! A Study For Head of George Dyer is one of my favourite paintings. Yes, yes. We’ll tell them that we met in front of the triptych,” Arthur says, not bothered at all by the dour subject matter of the paintings.

“Alright,” says Eames with a chuckle, amused that his odd choice of painting is going over so well. “So I wooed you in front of a very depressing painting. What do you do, Arthur?” Eames asks. 

“I’m an accountant. I do the books for an architecture firm here in Midtown. I make sure the taxes are filed and business expenses are accurate. My friends, the ones that you’re meeting today, own the firm. What about yourself?” Arthur asks. 

“I work in valuations at Sotheby’s, came over from the London office a few years ago,” says Eames. Arthur blinks at him. He gapes a bit. It’s a very unflattering look. Eames loves it; he loves how it twists Arthur’s features, making it look like he is about to dribble on his shirt. 

“I …” Arthur snaps his mouth shut and gives his head a small shake. “Well gosh. That is interesting, I… yes, well, we might have a longer conversation about that later,” he says, wagging a finger at Eames.

“I look forward to it,” Eames says with purr and a leer. It causes Arthur to blush again. It’s a look Eames is falling in love with. How easy it is to make Arthur blush. It’s a fine thing, a delicate dusting across his cheekbones and ears. 

“So Arthur, wha—” Eames is cut off by Arthur very quickly leaning in to kiss him. It isn’t a good kiss. Not at the start at any rate. More of a mashing of mouths together with a click of teeth and bumping of noses by two people who, up until that moment, had no reason to be kissing. 

Eames feels one of Arthur’s hands on his cheek, fingertips rasping the stubble. His own hand reaches forward to Arthur’s neck. The kiss gentles and smooths out into something much more pleasant. Something comforting, soft and warm.

“Sorry, just please, please trust me,” Arthur says, murmuring quietly against Eames’ lips. 

“Of course,” Eames says. He is lucky he heard Arthur over the pounding of his own heart. The kiss, the kiss was really, really fantastic once they sorted out what they were doing. Silky and sweet like spun sugar, after the reckless bump together.

“Aww, that’s adorable,” a lightly accented woman’s voice says. It is followed by a man saying, “Guys, PDA.” 

“Oh, hey,” Arthur says a bit breathless after breaking away from Eames. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Eames. Eames, this is Mal and Dom. The friends I said we’d be meeting up with today.”

“ _Enchantée_ ,” Mal says, offering her hand to Eames to shake. Her long brown hair is curled slightly, and pregnancy is giving her a beautiful glow. Eames untangles his hand from Arthur’s and takes hers. “Mallorie Cobb and my husband, Dom.” She sits down on the opposite side of the table with a small ‘ooph’ and rubs vaguely at the small of her back. 

“William Eames, but just Eames is fine. I’ve been dying to meet you. Arthur talks about you two,” says Eames. 

“He never said you were British,” Dom says with a squint. It’s not a good look on Dom: it makes him look like a pug.

“He never said your wife was pregnant, so I guess things slip our minds,” Eames retorts. 

Dom raises an eyebrow at Arthur with a look that says ‘what else aren’t you telling me’ and also ’how could you not mention my child.’ Arthur shrugs. Dom then nods his head towards the coffee bar. “I’m going to grab something, can I get you anything?”

“I’m good, thanks,” says Arthur. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” said Eames. “Arthur and I had a drink before you got here.”

Dom gives them another sharp nod. “Okay. I’ll get you a camomile tea, hon,” he says with a smile to Mal. She blows him a kiss.

“So, how did you meet?” she asks as Dom makes his way to the end of the ordering line. “Arthur never really said. To be honest he’s kept you quite vague, like you’re his secret. Dom and I had a bet that we’d get here and Arthur would be alone. Looks like I won.” She gives Arthur a smug smirk. Beside him, Eames feels Arthur inhale sharply and stiffen, insulted by the accusation and put out that Mal is technically correct. Eames puts his arm around the back of Arthur’s chair, dropping his hand on Arthur’s far shoulder and rubbing at his upper arm a bit. He feels Arthur relax.

“Oh, we met about what, darling, six months back?” Eames asks. He tugs Arthur closer to him.

“Yeah, it was about that,” Arthur says, leaning into Eames.

“There I was wandering through the Guggenheim one afternoon when I saw this exquisite vision staring at the Bacon triptych,” Eames says. “Such a contrast between dark and light that it made my heart flutter. This absolutely gorgeous man just devouring the violence of that set of paintings with his eyes.” He leans forward towards Mal, conspiratorially. “I had half a notion he was trying to figure out if he could steal them,” says Eames with a wink. 

Mal tosses her head back and laughs. “That sounds like our Arthur.”

“So,” Eames says, warming to his theme. “To distract him from what was obviously going to be a poor life choice, I chatted him up. We must have stood in front of that piece for what, Arthur? Half an hour?”

Arthur scoffs. “It wasn’t that long, it was twenty minutes maybe. And I wasn’t going to steal them, they’re just ... remarkably compelling.” 

“You’re remarkably compelling,” Eames says, kissing the side of Arthur’s head. “So then I take him by the hand, this stunning creature before me. This renaissance angel in the flesh. And I say ‘let’s discuss this further over coffee.’ We stayed in the café until closing and they kicked us out.” He brushes the curl of hair from Arthur’s forehead. As he suspected earlier, it bounces right back into place. 

“It’s a wonder Arthur didn’t take you back to his. He has a thing for modern British painters, don’t you, _mon cher_ ,” says Mal. 

“Oh I tried,” Arthur says. “But Eames was too much of a gentleman. We went for dinner, then he dropped me off at home. I offered, but all I got was a peck on the cheek and his phone number.”

“Once I got home I had the fastest wank since I was a teenager,” Eames says with a wink. Arthur blushes again, not the delicate pink as before but an unflattering shade of embarrassed red while Mal shrieks a laugh. “Barely got myself in the door before I dropped trou and—” Arthur stops him with a kiss. Eames can’t help but smile through it.

“Oh this is too wonderful, how red Arthur is,” Mal says with a laugh. “ _Un moment_ , you’re making me need the ladies’ with all this laughing.” She eases herself up and makes her way to the bathroom. 

“Oh my god, thank you,” says Arthur with heartfelt sincerity as soon as Mal is out of earshot. “I really can’t thank you enough for this. If Mal believes it, then Dom won’t question that it isn’t true. We’re lucky Ariadne isn’t here as well. She’d be grilling you like no tomorrow. She’s relentless.” 

“No worries,” Eames says. “Sorry for all the kissing and touching. I thought it would be best to sell it.”

“It’s fine, it’s all good, I started it,” Arthur says. “I can’t say I don’t like it. ‘Cuz I did. I do. Like a lot. Like really a lot. You’re good… I mean, you’re a good kisser and it’s good. All good. I mean… Yeah. Shutting up now.” Arthur blushes again.

“I can’t wait to tell my mate Yusuf this!” Eames says with a laugh. “He’ll never believe me, but then he’ll also say that this is the most me thing that could ever happen. You’ll like him when you meet him.” 

Eames pauses as his brain stutters to a stop. He mentally rewinds what he just said and fuck! He was acting like this was real. He gives his head a shake. “Sorry I … that was .. I mean theoretically if you,” he snorts at himself in frustration and tries again. “If we were a couple and you were to meet him, you’d like him,” Eames says awkwardly. “Got caught up a bit there.”

“No,” Arthur says softly. “It’s okay, it's fine." Arthur smiles, small, shy and soft. He’s still slightly pink about the cheeks. "I get what you mean."

Eames is glad that one of them does. “I’m glad that one of us does,” he mutters. Eames winces at that because, god, he's getting wrapped up in this just as fast, and so much so that, if he’s not careful, he’s going to need GPS and a road map to get him out again. "So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Anything else I should know before they get back?"

"No, you're doing great. Amazing, just, I'm so in your debt, it's not even funny," Arthur says, all heartfelt again. "You have no idea how grateful I am."

"It's fine," Eames replies with a wave of his hand. "Although, if you don't mind me asking, how're you gonna—” He pauses for a moment, huffs a breath and once again reorganizes his thoughts before trying to speak. “I mean, they're going to want to see us more, right? Obviously, they see you at work and you're friends with them, just, well, more as a couple. Other couple-y things, dinners and meet ups. Yanno what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, drawing the word out into multiple syllables as he thinks. He wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, I haven't exactly thought that far ahead yet.” He gives Eames a lopsided grin. “I've just been focused on getting them off my back because of the whole ‘you should start dating again, let me introduce you to’ business — because, I mean, I love them, I really do. Mal is, well she might as well be the sister I never had. But don't get me wrong, they have such awful taste when it comes to trying to set me up. One guy thought a good date was jazz slam poetry!"

Eames laughs at the thought of such a date. “Yeah, I get what you mean,” he says.

“So yeah, if you ever need a fake boyfriend to get your friends or family off your back,” he gives Eames the finger guns and then looks like he immediately regrets every decision he made in life that got him to this point. Eames can’t help but laugh, it’s too cute. He pulls Arthur closer and kisses his forehead. 

“You sure you’re okay with this? The kissing and touching?” he asks. 

“Yeah, m’fine,” Arthur murmurs. 

“Ahh, still in the honeymoon phase,” Mal says, coming back to the table. She puts down a plate with a muffin and a chocolate croissant. Dom is right at her heels carrying two cups. He gives Mal a chance to settle before sliding the cup of tea in front of her. 

“Oh, like you two weren’t as obnoxious,” Arthur says with a scoff. 

“I’m pretty sure we weren’t,” Dom says. 

“No. I’m pretty sure you two were worse,” Arthur replies. 

“All right,” Eames says, cutting off what feels like the beginning of an argument. “How did you guys meet? Arthur never gave me the full story.” It’s a great deflection as it focuses Dom and Mal on their relationship and their friendship with Arthur, and not Eames. 

Mal gasps at that. It’s a fake gasp, dramatic and over exaggerated. “Arthur, how could you!” she exclaims. 

“Contrary to your belief in your own self-importance, Eames and I have other things to talk about and do when we’re together,” Arthur says. Eames smirks at that and raises an eyebrow. Mal laughs with glee then takes a bite of her croissant. Dom makes a bit of a grossed out face, but he smiles into his coffee.

“Arthur and I have known each other since we were kids,” Mal says to Eames, her mouth full of croissant. “We met as children in school when he was in Paris for a bit. We stayed pen pals after that, first by letter then by email.”

“It’s like I told you,” Arthur cuts in, directing the conversation for Eames to follow. “Dad’s job had us in France for a few years when I was a kid. Like I said, we moved around a lot, Santa Monica, Tokyo, Paris,” he lists, counting each city off on his fingers. Eames nods in understanding. 

“Yeah, I remember,” he says to Arthur when really, he finds it another interesting facet to the man.

“I met Mal when I was in Paris. We were both in architecture school.” Dom adds, continuing the conversation. “When we graduated, she and I moved back here. That’s when I met Arthur. Mal was excited to see him again, and it was great he was in the city. He joined the firm shortly after we got it established.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “What do you do?” Dom says, directing the question to Eames.

“Eames works in valuations at Sotheby's,” Arthur says. He gives Eames a smile, full and beaming and warm. 

“Not just a pretty face who knows just enough about art to chat someone up,” Eames says, grinning and tapping Arthur on the nose. He lounges in his chair again, draping his arm over the back of Arthur’s chair. “I appraise pieces and collections. Sometimes for insurance, sometimes prior to auction. If it’s going for auction, my work helps set estimates and starting bids.” 

“Ooooh,” Mal says, her face lighting up with excitement. “Anything good coming up for auction?”

“Depends, what do you like?” Eames asks. 

“Lord, Mal, we don’t have that kind of money,” Dom complains. 

“Hush you,” she chastises. “I can dream. Arthur, I hate you for holding this information from me.”

“Maybe I was doing it for your own good, keeping Eames quiet and under wraps to protect you from accessing all the art. And Dom’s bank account,” he adds as an afterthought. Arthur then sticks out his tongue at Mal. She returns the gesture. The childish behaviour, it’s endearing, Eames thinks to himself.

“Thanks, Arthur,” Dom says, a bit deadpan. “Honestly though,” Dom says, pointing his thumb at Eames. He’s giving Arthur what probably is going to be his ‘dad’ look. Arthur fidgets a bit in his chair. “When I was picking up our order, Mal told me how you guys met. You really weren’t thinking about stealing those paintings, were you?”

“Lord, Dom! No,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes in disbelief that his friend asked that question. 

Eames laughs, “Even though I didn’t know you at the time, I would have bailed you out of jail.” 

Arthur smiles, then turns to Dom. “I can’t believe you actually thought that! It’s just Eames telling a story! Truth though, I couldn’t help myself. When he approached me and started discussing the Bacon, I couldn’t believe it. This ridiculously handsome random stranger, talking in depth about the triptych and Bacon’s motivations. I just —.” He sighs.

“You think I’m handsome?” Eames asks quietly.

“God, yeah,” Arthur says, breathlessly. “I mean, like look at you.” Arthur motions a bit at Eames’ chest with his hands. “Like first of all, you're jacked and that’s like _ugh!_ ” 

“Why thank you, Arthur,” Eames says with a smile. “Quite nice to be condescended to and have my body talked about.”

“Shut up, you’re jacked and you know it,” Arthur says with a grin, a grin that’s a bit savage looking. Like he wants to tear off Eames’ shirt to see what’s actually underneath. “But you also know a ton about art and art history, and that’s like stupid hot. Then there is your accent, which adds another level of charm. And … well, I just couldn’t believe that someone who looks like you and talks like you and ended up being as personable as you would be, could be interested in me. But you were and... yeah,” Arthur finishes, his gaze soft.

“Oh darling,” Eames says, cupping Arthur’s face in his hands. “I thought very much the same about you. This lovely bloke, so smart, so serious and so determined. I couldn’t believe it when you started talking to me.” 

He leans in and they kiss. It’s another soft kiss, like a warm blanket on a cold day. He feels Arthur’s hand wrap around the back of his neck, while his lips part, inviting Eames in. 

They break for a breath, touching foreheads. Eames hears a cough, then a voice, Mal’s voice saying “Hush.”

“They’re so adorable, it’s sickening,” Dom replies, but it all sounds far away.

“Here, have some muffin,” Mal says, but it too is distant and not directed at him or Arthur. 

“What you said before,” Arthur sighs. “About me being a renaissance angel.”

“God,” Eames murmurs quietly, only loud enough for Arthur to hear. “Yes, you are. You’re so perfect. Have dinner with me tonight. Please. Because I think … I want … I need this to be real.”

“Yes,” Arthur whispers back. “Oh my god, yes. Let’s do this, officially.” They break apart with twin grins, smiling like the absolute fools they are. 

"Thanks for joining us again," Dom chuckles, raising his mug in salute.

"Uh, sorry," Arthur mumbles. He’s clearly not that apologetic as he grabs Eames' free hand to lace their fingers together.

"No, you're not," Mal says, with a fond smile Arthur's way.

"No," Arthur agrees, "I'm really not." Eames knows exactly how he feels. He’s pretty sure he looks like the cat that got the canary and the cream. 

"Yep,” Dom says, motioning towards Eames with his cup. “This one's definitely a keeper. Seriously, Arthur, don't let him get away. He's good for you."

"I won't," Arthur says, glancing at Eames and squeezing his fingers. "He’s stuck with me now."

Eames is one thousand, no one million percent on board with that plan. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he says, and kisses Arthur again.


End file.
